


It's All Here In Your Head

by cheshirecatstrut



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Enemies to Friends, Fluff, Gen, Magic, Pre-Series, Skullduggery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 17:45:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9913892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshirecatstrut/pseuds/cheshirecatstrut
Summary: Logan's mad about being sorted into Gryffindor, and Veronica won't leave him alone.





	

The Gryffindor Common Room has a perpetual fire, which is why Logan’s reading contraband here at three AM. He’s huddled in the corner of the sofa nearest the flames, committing the recipe for the Draught of Living Death to memory; his eyes are crossing with exhaustion, but he doesn’t want to leave. His room is cold, his mattress is lumpy, and he hates his dumb, blonde, Labrador-esque roommate (plus everyone else in this House). His entire family is Slytherin, ditto all his friends, and so, he’s always been convinced, is he…but when he begged the Hat to sort him there, it refused.

So he oversleeps, and seeks privacy here, to focus on his long-term Plans. Or he WOULD be focusing--but someone ELSE is in the Common Room, too. And no amount of cutting words will make her go away.

Her current tactic for annoying him is butterflies. Pink and ghostly, delicate as lace, they whisper through his hair, across his cheeks, swirl around him in magical circles. He’s TRYING to ignore her, because really she’s beneath him, but NO ONE is that stoic.

Logan jerks as a butterfly flits down his collar, presses his lips together in exasperation. Speaking OF people who were sorted wrong, Veronica Mars is the POSTER girl for covert Slytherins. She dresses all in pink and wears demure headbands, but he’s not fooled. Two days ago, he watched her adopt a butter-wouldn’t-melt expression, then cast Finite Incantatem every time Snape tried to light his brewing fire. And the LAST time he couldn’t sleep, when he went searching for dirt on all his teachers, he spotted her quietly sneaking out of Dumbledore’s office.

He was fine with her schemes and perfidies, as long as he held the upper hand—aware of everything she kept hidden, while she remained oblivious. But last week in Defense Against the Dark Arts, he displayed a hair too much knowledge about the Cruciatus Curse, and how it works in practice on eleven-year-old forms. He played the slip off as a joke, nobody looked deeper….except HER. Her eyes narrowed, her jaw clenched, and he could practically SEE her assimilating facts. Which was bad--he’ll get dragged home to stay, in disgrace, if the truth gets out about this World-Cup-Winning, All-Star Seeker’s son.

She approached him, oh-so-casually, after class, probing for dirt, so he had to get nasty; nine times out of ten, that shocks interlopers back in line. But SHE made a knowing, determined, UNDERSTANDING face, and now she won’t quit pushing to be his FRIEND. Like he’s a puzzle she’s obsessed with solving. Like he WANTS to pal around with her try-hard Muggle self, when the cream of underage Wizarding society basks in his reflected glow.

A butterfly the size of an orange lands on the book, obscuring the spell he’s memorizing, lazily flapping its wings. Logan’s never-very-steady temper ignites, and with a flick of his hand, he makes her disappear. Smirks at the appearance of solitude, even if illusory, and bends back to his book with intent.

“Tell me what you’re reading,” she coaxes from right beside him, and he sighs. Because of COURSE Veronica Mars doesn’t get frightened when outclassed, and LEAVE.

“Mind your own business,” he says, closing the book he’s not supposed to have with a snap. “And take your aggressively pink and perfect self to bed. Other people around here might admire you for rising from the muck of Muggle obscurity, but I’m not one of them. I’m BETTER than you, Veronica, and I want you to go AWAY.”

“Aw, you really DO hate butterflies,” she pouts, in tones of exaggerated innocence. “And here I thought they might cheer you out of your world-class brood.”

“I LOATHE butterflies,” he says, with emphasis. “AND Gryffindor. And YOU.”

He settles back to read, having pronounced judgment, and it’s blessedly silent for a moment, before the bats come. They have fangs, and red eyes, leer and lunge like they want to bite; he tries to contain the laugh bubbling out, but can’t.

“Better,” she praises, still lurking uncomfortably close. “I thought you might take all night to loosen up. Now seriously…I HAVE to know what you’re reading. It LOOKS both dangerous and illegal, and I can’t imagine where you FOUND it.”

He makes her reappear again with a practiced, dramatic wave, studies her small, avid face. It occurs to him that she’s really good at potions—at all academics, really, she’s a dyed-in-the-wool teacher’s pet. Maybe her aptitude could serve him, lured as she seems to be by a fascination for the forbidden. “Can you keep a secret?”

Her eyes gleam, and he thinks, GOT YOU. “I want to make the Draught of Living Death,” he continues, shifting into a calculated sprawl. “If you’ll help me…if you’ll do the parts of the potion I can’t…I know a way to get Snape off your back for good.”

The bats return to her wand at her infinitesimal wave. Her little hand extends, and he takes it, engulfing her fingers with his--he just had a growth spurt last summer, whereas she still looks like a dainty doll. Then she smiles, and he blinks. Because it’s dazzling-white, her smile, pretty and demure, but also the grin of a particularly ruthless shark.

Logan’s mouth twitches, unbidden. His grip tightens and he smiles back. Tries to imagine Duncan participating in an against-the-rules activity that threatens his safety, can’t.

He thinks maybe, just maybe, Griffindor wasn’t the worst place for him to end up, after all.


End file.
